Ukrainian women's guide to preparing for death in war

Russia's war has taught Maria Zavialova and other women how to live – and die.

Maria Zavialova of Kyiv.

Editor’s Note: Grumpy Old Men welcome guest posts. To contribute, contact Michael Andersen at michaelandersencentralasia@yahoo.com or Brian Bonner at bribonner@gmail.com. 

“Hi, sweetie, are you OK?”

This routine morning question has replaced "How are you?" for years in Ukraine, especially since Russia’s full-scale invasion in 2022.

We prepare for the morning that we might not see. The routine is: Wake up, read the news, see the spot that was hit by Russian missiles or drones overnight, and write to friends there. We do not call since our friends might have finally fallen asleep after a sleepless night. It is better to write and wait.

The same in Kyiv, where I live. I either wake up to learn that the city was under attack, or I have been awake during the bombardment. And I answer the morning question:

“What do we say to the God of Death?”

“Not today.”

I and millions of Ukrainian women go to bed every night prepared to be killed. We all have our individual rituals, but they are often the same. The strange thing we have in common is that we are no longer afraid of dying. We fear other things, or rather, we worry about them. Here are three of them:

Maria Zavialova of Kyiv.

The fear of not dying immediately

We do not want to be trapped under the building rubble for hours, injured, bleeding, missing parts of our bodies, and dying slow and painful deaths. That's why we mostly don't go to the basement anymore. We know it wouldn't save us from the missile strike. It will just prolong our agony. And, if we live, we still need to work and take care of our kids and family tomorrow. That's harder if we run to the basement after every air alert, meaning every couple of hours. We go under certain conditions: if we've heard the alert, awakened the kids, and moved to the corridor. Or if the authorities warn that the missile is heading to our district. Or if we've heard, seen, or felt the explosion nearby. But those are rare coincidences, really.

The fear of dying in bad clothes

I put on my best lingerie every night. I got rid of the other ones. Mine are from Italy, and that's the underwear I want to be buried in. My friends would rather buy pretty new jammies instead of a new dress. We do not want reporters to film our dead bodies in old panties. No way! We do not want the rescuers to see the holes in our nighties. We will win the dead beauty contest or not be found at all! Besides, all this helps with identification. That's why we wear some special jewelry as well.

The fear of waiting too long for the rescue

In case of survival, it's better to be found as soon as possible, so the doctors numb us fast. So we have placed some dog food near the bed. Yes, we know rescue dogs are trained to sniff humans. We are not dumb. But what if the dog missed her sniffing lessons or that woman from the third floor had a better scent? We want to be found quickly.

Then, miraculously, another morning comes. We check with family and friends or assure them we are fine. Or both. We thank God for another day. And we do the stuff other people usually do when they are not targets, not sentenced to death just for being Ukrainian or living in Ukraine. 

Another difference is that we no longer postpone any joy. Russians don't just attack at night and, as we are acutely aware, we only live once and have no idea when our last day will come.

Maria Zavialova is a freelance journalist in Kyiv. She has covered Russia’s war against Ukraine as a fixer, correspondent, and editor for TV and radio journalists since the beginning of the Kremlin’s invasion of Crimea in 2014. She served as chief editor for the Back and Alive Foundation in 2020-2021. She can be reached at zaviialova@gmail.com. To contribute to Grumpy Old Men, contact Michael Andersen at michaelandersencentralasia@yahoo.com or Brian Bonner at bribonner@gmail.com.